Broadening, LXVI. And Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack.

First... our soundtrack, the new-to-me Amy Rigby with an interesting tune:

Jeanie is my new husband’s exwife

It looks like she’s gonna be a part of my life

Cause there’s a couple of kids and twenty some years they share

So I guess Jeanie isn’t going anywhere

I even tried to hate her like I thought I should

But since we met she’s been nothing but good

And the trouble with Jeanie is she’s alright

And the trouble with Jeanie is she’s so nice

Would somebody explain to me this modern life?

How can I pick up where she never left off

We’re like a club of two who’ve seen him with his clothes off

And there’s nowhere to hide because it’s all out in the light

Can I help if I’m a little bit uptight

I must admit I don’t know how I’m supposed to act

She’s hugging me instead of stabbing my back

And the trouble with Jeanie is she’s alright

And the trouble with Jeanie is she’s so nice

Would somebody explain to me this modern life?

The trouble with Jeanie is

The trouble with Jeanie is

I’ve heard of divorces where bitterness forces

Extreme mortal combat and I wouldn’t want that

But I hadn’t planned on something quite so hands on

Instead of a blessing, it seems to be messing with my mind

And the trouble with Jeanie is she’s alright

And the trouble with Jeanie is she’s so nice

And the trouble with Jeanie is I’m uptight

Would somebody explain to me this modern life?

The trouble with Jeanie is

The trouble with Jeanie is

I don't often post the complete lyrics to the tunes we play during Happy Hour but these lyrics are just too good not to do so.  I've heard of relationships with ex's like this but I've never actually seen one; the relationship between my ex-wives... such as it was... could never have been put in these terms.  My experience is prolly typical and it's a shame more aren't like that about which Ms. Rigby sings.  I like this tune... a lot.

But on to better things, in a manner o' speaking.  Here's what we're drinkin' today:

I'll freely admit the colorful carrier caught my eye but it was the selection of beers... an ale, a lager, this Porter, and one other... that made me jump.  Didja see the legend on the bottle?  "Pay the ferryman."  Heh.  I loves me my beer and I loves it even MORE when it's frickin' literate.  Now, that said... the beer is a lil bit thin for a Porter... more like a dark lager, actually... but it's eminently drinkable, sorta a "summer Porter," if there's such a thing.  I'd like to let you know what the Pros From Dover think about this beer but they apparently haven't tasted it yet.  Chalk one up for me... this is the very first time I've had a beer that the Alström Brothers haven't.  Yay, me!

My bottom line?  I like it and I'll most certainly buy more.  It beats the livin' hell outta what The Most Interesting Man In The World drinks.  By far.   (Short parenthetical: We're talkin' Mexican beer here, dontcha know.  And DON'T even start me up about freakin' Corona.  Bleah.) 

Wait. What's Today?

That used to mean sumthin', but it doesn't today... Thank The Deity At Hand.

The Sunday Re-Run

One of the very early posts.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine, IV

Lompoc AFS, circa 1964

End of the Night

Lompoc, California. Summer, 1965

Some are born to the endless night

It’s late, just past 1:00 a.m. I just dropped the girlfriend off at her house, now I have to get to work. My shift began at midnight, but it’s OK. I greased it with the guy I’m relieving last night; told him I had a date and would be an hour or so late. Close enough. But first I have to do a little favor for a friend. My best friend Pete, a sky cop who works the same shift rotation I do, asked me to drive by his apartment to see if there was “anything strange goin’ on” before I head up the hill. So, I drive by Pete’s place, and sure enough, there is something strange. All the lights are off in Pete’s apartment, but there’s a car parked outside, and it ain’t Pete’s.

Just as he suspected.

So, I point the Triumph up the hill and motor on up to the site. 15 minutes later I pull up to the gate. Pete steps out of the gate house, opens the gate, waves me in, and pulls the gate closed. I pull up to the gate house and get out of the car. Pete walks over.

“So?”

“Yeah, you were right. He’s there. No lights.”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“I just did. What now?”

“Loan me your car and watch the gate for me for an hour.”

I frown.

“Damn, Pete! That’s asking a lot, Buddy!”

"Asking a lot" is a classic understatement. Pete is going to desert his post and I’m going to be a freaking accomplice. If we’re discovered the best that would happen would be a real ass-chewing and extra duty. Worst case, we could be court-martialed. I’m thinking worst case.

“C’mon. I really need to sort this out.”

I realize he’s really hurting and there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind he’d do the same for me if I asked.

“OK. An hour, no more. If you’re not back in an hour…”

“I will be.”

“Let me go relieve Bob and I’ll be right back.”

I drive up the top of the hill to the radar tower, park the car and go in. Shift turnover takes less than five minutes, and that includes Bob’s mandatory debrief on my date. Nothing’s going on (Thank God), all the systems are up, and there’s nothing unusual scheduled for the rest of the night. Bob walks out the door, I hear his car start up and he leaves.

I take about five minutes to step through my routine shift checks and then go out, get in my car and whip down to Ops. I go in, make my presence known, exchange small talk with the Ops shift supervisor and then get back into my car and drive down to the gate.

Most of the guys in Ops were already asleep, and the shift supervisor gave every indication he was gonna get that way as soon as I walked out the door. Such is life on weekend mid-shifts.

Pete’s pacing up and down outside the gate when I get there. I get out of the car and Pete says “Damn! That took long enough!” I smile and toss him my keys. He’s in the car and gone before I can say “Be careful!”

I swing the gate closed and watch the headlights of my car disappear down the hill. I watch until the car is out of sight and then go into the gate shack, pour a cup of coffee and fiddle with the radio. It’s about a ten minute drive from the site in to town, so an hour is more than enough for Pete to get to his place, kick our friend out, confront his girlfriend, do what he has to do (whatever that may be), and get back. It’s not quite 2:00 a.m. so I figure I’ll see Pete somewhere around 3:00.

And then it hits me. Pete didn’t leave his gun. He’s armed, pissed off, and he’s on his way to roust some poor SOB out of HIS bed. Goddamn! I tell myself Pete’s level-headed and won’t do hard time for that wench. I try and relax. It’s no use. Why didn’t I think about the freaking gun?

Three o’clock comes and goes. Four o’clock comes and goes. I’m outside, pacing back and forth, scanning the road below for headlights. Pitch dark. Five o’clock comes and goes. No Pete.

I’m pretty damned frantic by now. My imagination is running wild. Double-murder. Suicide. Worse. I’m wondering what Leavenworth is really like, sure in the knowledge that I’m gonna find out, up close, personal, and real soon. I can’t call Pete’s house, there’s no direct dial off the site. I’d have to dial zero, from the freaking gate shack, fer God’s Sake, and ask the Comm Center operator to put me through. That’s a serious no-go, a dead give away something’s not right. Besides, the freaking operators listen in on phone calls. So, I stew. And sweat. A lot.

Half an hour later the sky is rosy pink…dawn is nearly here. At 5:45 I see lights in the canyon. I go outside and watch the lights crawling up the hill, praying it’s Pete and not some other guy, or God Forbid, an officer. Two or three minutes later I can hear the car. It’s mine. Thank God!

The gate is wide open by the time Pete gets to the top of the hill and he roars in and cuts the motor. I scream ALL the curse words I know at him before he’s even out of the car, and probably made up a few new ones right on the spot.

“Coffee fresh?” he says. I could freaking KILL him, and all he can say is “coffee fresh?”

He grins and says something like “Be cool, everything’s OK,” and we go in the gate shack. He sits, I stand, and he fills me in. He never drew the gun, but told me our friend saw it in his holster right off the bat. The boy was scared shitless, and I don’t blame him for being scared. He should have been damned scared! Pete didn’t even smack him around, although he admitted he wanted to. Pete said he threw him out the door in his underwear, clutching his clothes. We laugh. Pete tells me about the ensuing conversation with the girlfriend. I try and be as empathetic as I can, considering I'm still six different kinds of pissed.

I told Pete I thought he really abused me, told him how freaking worried I was, and on, and on. Pete apologizes. I go out, get in the car and drive on up to the search tower to complete the night's work and fire up the coffee for the day shift.

Eventually I would forgive Pete. But not that night. Not even that week.

One week later and Pete moves out. The girlfriend is never going to change, and Pete is smart enough to realize that. And better off for it, too.

As for me, I never, ever, did a “favor” like that again. For anyone, in or out of the service. One Endless Night is enough for a lifetime.

I thought about re-posting this one on the recommendation of that other Ol' AF Sarge but we've posted that piece twice already.  Apropos o' not much, I was on top of that radar antenna on the left hand side of the pic (below the "bubble") when I was surprised by that Voodoo.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

It's a beautiful day here on The High Plains o' New Mexico... The Deity At Hand finally turned off the wind machine and has graced us with a crystal-clear day with temps in the mid-70s as a reward for our forbearance over the last week.  We really SHOULD have our windows and door open and should be listenin' to our own music.  But we're not; while we DO have the windows and door open we simply couldn't be bothered to choose suitable music for this day.  So: In Pandora We Trust -- specifically the Annie Lennox station, which is nothing more than one heartbreak tune piled upon another.  Like this:

I know I left too much mess and
destruction to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "it's over"
then I'm sure that that makes sense

I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be 

Oh... shut UP, Dido.  No one wants to hear that krep, with one possible exception. 

Strange music for a beautiful day, eh?  But it is what it is and we shall get back out on the verandah to continue as we've begun.

Saturday

Presented as a public service, so don't ever say that EIP isn't educational and stuff.



The associations the video makes between elements and their uses is pretty interesting, especially silicon (insert smiley-faced thingie here).  If you're anything like me you'll watch it two or three times... coz the elements all go by so fast.  Kinda like the way time goes for geezers, eh?

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack: The Flesh is Weak

I'm in deep doo-doo.  We KNOW DIL Erma will be here in about an hour's time and there's a certain... ummm... expectation that we will consume a few barley pops on the verandah upon her arrival, which might could extend until such time as the sun goes down.  Or not, depending on her agenda.  We had it in our mind to save ourselves for the occasion, which is to say we wouldn't begin Happy Hour until she made her presence known.  Alas, and alack, the flesh is weak.  We're getting ready to pop the top on our third adult beverage of the afternoon in spite of all our best intentions.  But you know what they say... road... intentions... pavement... and all that.  It isn't quite as bad as this, but almost:

Well, I woke up this morning, I got myself a beer
Well, I woke up this morning, and I got myself a beer
The future's uncertain, and the end is always near 

The future IS uncertain... but I think it MIGHT get a lil bit boozy-woozy this evening.  Now if we can just talk Erm into inviting her girlfriend over...

On quite another topic... WHY is it that I've been either blessed or cursed by my associations with wimmen who can, and do, drink me under the table?  Conventional wisdom has it that men are better drinkers... or at least can hold their liquor better... than wimmen.  Such is NOT the case with me.  Many were the nights when I left The Second Mrs. Pennington and The Lovely Ms. Lynch to their devices whilst I struggled upstairs to get horizontal.  Both of those ladies routinely laughed at me as I said my adieus and left their sterling company.  And they aren't the only ones, either, they were just two in a long line of such strongly-constituted wimmen.  I don't know if I'm a lightweight or if I've just been blessed/cursed in knowing wimmen of exceptional capacity.  That kinda-sorta worked to my benefit back in Former Happy Days, in that my virtue was easily compromised.  What virtue I had, anyhoo.  Like I said: a completely different topic.  My virtue will most likely remain intact this evening, but my sobriety prolly won't.

Lessons-Learned

First and foremost: I should NEVER post when I'm in a snit.  (That's polite language for being seriously and extremely pissed off.)  The back-story is this:  I turned the teevee off just as soon as the puck went in the net during the OT; I didn't even wait for the replay or the second playing of Chelsea Dagger on the night (I NEVER want to hear that fucking song again, ever), or the handshake line.  There are just some things you DON'T want to see or hear when you're trying to restrain yourself from throwing the nearest heavy object through yer teevee screen.  This bears mentioning, too: I certainly didn't want to hear the asinine commentary by the NBC SportsNetwork crew, who deserve a big "fuck you," as well.  I'm not the only one who feels that way, either. 

That said, posting in anger reveals one's true feelings and state of mind, I suppose.  We make no apologies for the intent and content of last night's post, only for the not-so-gratuitous use of the f-bomb.  Yet there are times when an f-bomb and only an f-bomb will do.  Further: I'm NOT a good loser, if you haven't figured that out by now.  That's prolly the only thing Vince Lombardi and I have in common.

Second:  Some people have learned their lessons well.  I got a call just after 2200 hrs last evening from DIL Erma, letting me know she'll be in town today and would I be available to drink a couple o' beers this afternoon?  (Not sayin' THAT'S a dumb question, but...)  It came to pass that she and SN1 spoke just after the game ended last evening wherein Buck advised her to "give him a few minutes before you call."  Smart move, that.  While we're on the subject... He was just as pissed as I was; I suppose this sort of thing runs in the family.

We'll get over this.  It's gonna bite and burn for a while but it's only the second round... it's not like we lost Game Seven of the Stanley Cup Finals.  I'm still not over THAT.

Furl the Flag

 Season over.  The Wings took it about as far as could be reasonably expected in this season of rebuilding and adversity.  But to lose... in overtime... in Game Seven in your opponent's barn is a little bit much to take.  We shall furl the flag and await next year.

Just repeat the mantra, Buck:  "It's only a game, it's only a game."  Well, no... it's not.  Hockey is life played out on a small stage and it's THAT important.

So.  Next year, Wings.  And fuck you, Chicago.  I hope you get swept in the conference final.  You deserve nothing more and nothing less.

We Are Annoyed

So, we're back from our whirlwind tour o' the microplex... The Big(ger) City^TM -- Cannon Airplane Patch -- P-Ville... and we can say "Mission Accomplished!" without having to don a flight suit in the process.  Or land on a big-ass boat.  Yes, our eyes have been examined (we passed!  with flying colors, too.), vittles and adult libations have been bought (and put away, even), the car's been gassed, and everything on today's list has been marked off.  Yet we did say we're annoyed.  Why's that?  This:

Today is the fifth consecutive day where our winds have been in excess of 30 mph, steady, with gusts up to and including 50 mph.  Yeah, "so what's new?" you say, Gentle Reader?  Point taken.  You'd think that after living here on The High Plains o' New Mexico for over ten years I'd be used to this krep by now.  It happens every Spring and oftentimes well into summer, as well.  But it's one of those things you never really get used to, no matter how "normal" it is.  It's kinda like livin' in the Northeast and havin' to shovel snow every damned winter.  That may be normal but it sure as Hell ain't no fun.

And the DUST.  Aiiieee!  My air purifier has been working overtime this week as my apartment apparently isn't that well sealed.  I've given up tryin' to stay ahead of the dust accumulating on my black furniture (Good choice, Buck... you idiot.) and will wait until the wind subsides a lil bit until the next time I dust.

(Short parenthetical: I have NO bid'niz bitching about a lil wind.  I could be in Moore and not have a house left.  There's the reality check.)

It's always sumthin'.  But at least I don't have to shovel dust.  Yet.

Another Early Day

I've been up since the approximate crack o' dawn, or as close as I want to get to that ungodly hour these days... and that would be 0800 hrs.  We set our alarm this morning to ensure we were up early enough to get fully caffeinated before setting out to The Big(ger) City^TM where we have our bi-annual eye exam at 1030 hrs this morning.  We thought about going to the range after our exam but we must balance fun and responsibility, in that we find it necessary to make both commissary and whiskey re-supply runs.  It would be one or the other but not both.  So... fun?  Duty?  Hard choices had to be made.

Duty won.  I'll go to the range later this week.  We must keep ourselves balanced, yanno?  Duty and obligation.

Broadening, LXV

Cue up Martha... summer's HERE and it's oh-so-sultry outdoors.  We won't be dancin' in the streets but we will have a couple o' these:

That would be a Sierra Nevada Summerfest, last year's edition.  We didn't notice we were drinkin' OLD beer until we posed the bottle and went WTF?  I have to say the beer keeps well and it still tastes very good... light and refreshing as all get-out.  The Bros like it, too.

T&M- Crispness is beyond belief, so refreshing. Clean but dry malty palate, hint of lemon in the spicy hop character that lends a nice bitter bite. Touch of herbal hop and grain husk middle to end, finishes quite dry.

D- Give one of these to a macro drinking friend and see what happens. I could easily go through a few on a hot summer day.

Yeah... what he said about the "hot summer day."  It's 93 wonderful degrees out on the verandah, as we speak.  Which is where I'll be just as soon as I hit "publish."

Cheers!

After Which We Slide Back Into Comfortable Obscurity

There are two times a year... and one follows hard on the heels of the other... when traffic here in our lil corner o' the blogosphere spikes.  Like this:

Don't ask about that Mothers Day post... I have NO ideer.

That's because Google loves me, placing my Memorial Day images high in their search rankings, which results in quite a few more hits than normal.  The other occasion is D-Day, when my UCR post featuring invasion photos from old Life magazines get similar placement in Google's search results.

I'm the blogosphere's equivalent of the "one-hit wonder," doncha know.  But even this small amount o' fame doesn't come close to one Instalanche.  (sigh)

Plane Pr0n

From the Usual USAF Source:

Air Frame: (Left to right) An F-86 Sabre, a P-51 Mustang, P-40 Warhawk, and P-26 Peashooter perform at the Planes of Fame Air Show in Chino, Calif., May 5, 2013. (Courtesy photo by Frank Mormillo) (Click to embiggen)

You don't see too many flyable Peashooters; I've never seen one in the air.  The others?  Yes, quite a lot... including F-86s in active service, albeit not with OUR air force.  But never a Peashooter.

Memorial Day

From USAF's official site:

WASHINGTON (AFNS) -- Secretary of the Air Force Michael Donley and Air Force Chief of Staff Gen. Mark A. Welsh III send the following Memorial Day message to Airmen of the U.S. Air Force and their families:

Memorial Day provides an opportunity to reflect upon the sacrifices of our nation's uniformed service members, particularly the more than one million Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines, and Coast Guardsmen who gave their "last full measure of devotion" to preserve the freedoms we cherish. Many of us can envision a specific individual -- a relative, friend, or coworker -- who has paid the ultimate price in defense of America. Take a moment -- right now -- and think of that person and their family ... thank them for giving their all.

As we remember our fallen, we must also never forget our missing. More than 83,000 U.S. service members remain unaccounted for, more than 9,700 patriots still missing from the Korean War to today. Nearly 1,500 of those missing since the Korean War are Airmen, and we will never stop looking until all return home. Let us also honor the sacrifices of our "greatest generation" on this day of remembrance. Our ability to hear first-hand from our World War II veterans will not last forever, as the final Doolittle Tokyo Raider reunion earlier this year testifies, so take advantage of every opportunity to thank and learn from these heroes.

For the families of our fallen and missing, Memorial Day brings a particular poignancy as the nation recognizes an indescribable loss that the affected parents, spouses, siblings and children feel every day. Thankfully, our Air Force family surrounds and supports every member during times of loss, but we've had to repeat this ritual far too many times -- this year included. We must never let the sacrifices of our fallen, missing, captured or wounded be in vain.

To all Airmen, thank you for your sacrifices, past, present and future. We are honored to serve beside you in America's Air Force and in defense of this great nation.

We also remember and honor our soldiers, sailors, Marines, and Coast guardsmen who made the ultimate sacrifice.

(The highlight in the message is mine.)

You Don't See Many o' These Any Longer

I'm talkin' about sidecar rigs, like this:

Don't they look spiffy?  That's Occasional Readers Carol and Tom, who stopped in for coffee yesterday morning.  They're on a Memorial Day weekend jaunt down towards Ruidoso, Fort Stanton, and the VLA... among other places.  There was a time when one used to see sidecars all over the place but I'm thinkin' they've fallen into disfavor in this day and age.  More's the pity, as they say, because a sidecar rig is a pretty classy way to travel.

Yesterday was the first time we've met in Real Life and the occasion is one of the things I like BEST about this blogging gig... the making and meeting of new friends.

Saturday: Gnarly! And Stoked!

The title words are from the surfer sub-culture of which I was a part in my high school days in Torrance, California.  About which, this:



Cowabunga, Dude!  The biggest wave I ever attempted to ride was perhaps six feet and THAT scared the beejeebus out o' me.  You have no ideer about the sheer terror that ensues when several tons o' water breaks over yer head and tosses yer ass around like the proverbial rag doll.  Oftentimes you have no clue about which way is up and THAT is scary.  Yet another reason to marvel about how I managed to survive my youth.

This lil clip also brought to mind watching Bruce Brown films in various high school gyms in SoCal while I was in high school (c. '62 - '63), long before Endless Summer came out.  Ah, nostalgia.  What WOULD we do without it?

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack: Another Chestnut

We really could play this chestnut meme for-evah (and a day).  Here's yet another, in that "never get tired of it" category:

Thinkin' 'bout the times you drove in my car.
Thinkin' that I might have drove you too far.
And I'm thinkin' 'bout the love that you laid on my table.
I told you not to wander 'round in the dark.
I told you 'bout the swans, that they live in the park.
Then I told you 'bout our kid: now he's married to Mabel.

Well... "our kid" ain't married just yet but the rest of it is pretty much how it is, or was.  Yeah, I might have drove her too far, but Hey! ... It's water under the dam, or over the bridge, or sumthin'.  See the post immediately below, please.

One more thing.  We loves us some Cream, who defined "power trio" for all eternity.  It don't get NO better than this, Gentle Reader.

Been There, Done That

That's one of the reasons... if not THE reason... I ain't goin' back, too.  We has us some STORIES... but don't we all?

The h/t goes to Occasional Reader and Constant Correspondent Rob.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack: Chestnuts

"Chestnuts" come in two flavors in my world: those songs that NEVER grow old and the ones that make you wanna kill things and break people if you EVER hear them again.  "Proud Mary" is Number One With a Bullet in the latter category (we make a big-ass exception for Tina's version, which is better than CCR's by an order o' magnitude and never gets old in these parts), "Stairway to Heaven" is the runner-up, although anything by Bob Seger is a close second (living in Dee-troit for 11 years will do that to ya).  Ya want more?  OK... Carole King's/James Taylor's "You've Got a Friend."  The Doobie Bros' "Listen to the Music."  Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird."  The Hollies' "Long Cool Woman In a Black Dress."  And you KNOW there may be more... in fact there ARE many more but let's not dwell.  Old-time Top 40 radio and the current "Classic Rock" genre o' FM radio spoiled a lot o' tunes for me, simply because they were (and are, still) well and truly over-played.  I liked most of the songs in that "never wanna hear 'em again" category when they were first released but after the 1,342nd playing?  No.  Never again, thank ya.

As for the first category... there isn't a single Beatles (not even "I Wanna Hold Your Hand") or Stones ("Brown Sugar," anyone?) tune that's been overplayed in my book.  The same goes for Van Morrison, although "Brown-eyed Girl" seems to be the only tune by Van in constant rotation.  And this guy, of course:



THAT, Gentle Reader, is the rock 'n' roll anthem to end all anthems.  We never get tired of it and I sometimes wonder why that is.

One more thing.  There's a third category o' chestnuts, that bein' "we hated 'em then and we hate 'em now" category.  Two "artists" come immediately to mind: Jim Croce and Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr..  Everything they ever did was pure schlock and cringe-worthy on the very first hearing.  YMMV, of course.

When All Else Fails...

... post a hockey highlight reel.  This one is by my current favorite Red Wing, the incredible Number 13.



Pasha has many, many nicknames... one of which is "The Magician."  Now you know why.

H/t: The Usual Hockey Source.

Game Four tonight at The Joe... and I'd like to see a couple of those kinda goals tonight.

LGRW!

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

The legendary Duane Allman with "Little Martha:"



The Allman Bros are more famous for their southern mix o' blues and boogie but "Little Martha" has always been one o' my favorite Allman tunes.  That said, Leo Kottke does an immaculate cover of the song.



Brother Leo ranks right up there among my favorite guitarists.  I've seen him at least three times and almost always in the smallest o' venues, like small clubs or college theatres.  The man deserves much more fame than he's acquired over the years.

In other news... I'm suffering from my second migraine headache in ten days' time and that really bums me out.  I've suffered migraines since my teenage years and the only good thing I can say about them is they've lessened in severity and frequency as I've grown older.  There was a time when the pain was SO severe that it made me vomit; we thank The Deity At Hand that's not the case today.  These days the aura signalling the onset of a migraine is the worst part... the actual headache is minor.  I hate the aura, coz it renders me nearly blind for as long as it lasts... and that can be the better part o' an hour... but the aura went away about 15 minutes ago.  As for the headache itself?  I've experienced worse when hungover.  I took two Aleves when the aura appeared and things are pretty much right with the world, as we speak.  Still and even, I find it troubling my migraines have reappeared after being gone for so long.

It's always SUMTHIN'.

Aftermath

Our hearts go out to the victims of this unbelievably catastrophic disaster.  And then there's this, from the Usual USAF Source:

Tinker Spared from Tornado's Wrath
The ferocious tornado that leveled large swaths of Moore, Okla., on Monday spared Tinker Air Force Base and the Oklahoma City Air Logistics Complex, a base spokeswoman told the Daily Report on Tuesday. Although the base was up and running at mid-day on May 21, many nearby roads were closed and phone lines were down, and Tinker officials were still trying to make an accounting of the nearly 30,000 airmen and civilian employees who work on base, she said. Tinker dispatched assets—emergency vehicles and fire trucks—that, along with many volunteers from the base, were helping local authorities deal with the aftermath of the storms, which killed at least 24 people and destroyed a local school and hospital. The tornado hit about three miles south of Tinker, said base officials in a May 21 release. There are more than 18,000 dependents and 36,000 retirees in the six counties surrounding the base, which is Oklahoma's single largest employer. Tinker units operate E-3 AWACS and KC-135R tankers, and the Oklahoma City depot is the hub of repair and overhaul for the B-1B, B-52, C/KC-135, E-3, and Navy E-6 aircraft, and the F100, F101, F108, F110, F117, F118, F119 and TF-33 engines.

—John A. Tirpak

I feel personally affected by this in a small way.  I lived in Moore for three or four months when I was first assigned to Tinker back in 1983.  Yeah, that was a long time ago but having spent two and a half years in the OKC area I still have friends and acquaintances (former co-workers) there.  Everyone is OK as far as I know and we're counting our blessings. 

Oh, This Is PRICELESS!

From Grantland...



Couldn't have happened to a better buncha people (as noted elsewhere: I hate actively dislike the Leafs and their fans).  The hat-tip goes to Sean McIndoe, whose piece on the 20 types of depressed sports fans is also priceless. You should definitely read this, coz if'n you're a sports fan you'll find yourself there.  Me? I'm a Number Two. Definitely a Number Two.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

The legendary Marvin, with "I Heard It Through the Grapevine"...



OK... that's the definitive version of the song, no argument at all.  That said, the version I listened to today was by CCR, which is an 11 minute tour de force.  I also love Gladys Knight and the Pips version, as well.  Let's listen to that...



Oh, yes indeedy!  I'm hard-put to name my favorite version of this tune; it might be sacrilege but I think I like Gladys' version is better... mainly for the great horn break.  I'm SUCH a sucker for horns.

It's yet another bee-you-ti-ful day here on The High Plains o' New Mexico... 75 degrees with light (six mph) breezes out o' the west... and we're milking it for all it's worth.  So it's back outside to continue as we've begun, with a couple o' Kellerweises and a Drew Estate Kuba Maduro.  Or two.  Or three.

Quick Hit

It's nice when yer kids still think yer cool.  An excerpt from an e-mail exchange with the boys, wherein I sent 'em both pics of the new sweater:

Buck Pennington	11:51 AM (0 minutes ago)
to sampenni, afmajbuck

Why, thank you!  I'm gonna quote you on the blog... that's how cool I am.  ;-)

ilyb,
d

On Tue, May 21, 2013 at 9:48 AM, wrote:

Very cool... you excel in being cool. 

 

Seriously.  Example: I was telling CAPT Zobel, my new boss, how you sold your sport bike a couple of years ago... his response: "He was riding sport bikes in his mid-60's?  Too cool."

 

Now he knows where I get it from. ;)

 

ILYb,

Sam

-----Original Message-----
From: Buck Pennington
To: Buck Pennington
Cc: Sam Pennington
Sent: Mon, May 20, 2013 5:43 pm
Subject: New! Improved!

FYI...

Monday, May 20, 2013

I Lied...

Life is a two-way street, yanno?  I think THEY are pretty cool, too.

I Lied...

... when I said I didn't have anythang today, coz looky what came in today's mail:

My new retro Wings sweater!  And just in time for Game Three tonight... Yays!  This is number 25, in case you're wondering.  One o' my heroes, for this.  And this:



One of the prettiest hockey goals you'll EVER see.

Update, 1720 hrs:  Forgot the usual, customary, and oh-so-reasonable Let's Go Red Wings!

Still More Re-Runs and a Bonus Mini-Rant

Here it is... well past 1430 hrs... and we're still drinkin' our morning coffee and still making the blog rounds.  We've read the overnight mail and there was nuthin' in that worthy of passing on, not even in the daily missives I get from the Air Force Association or the political krep I get from elsewhere. 

Digression... 

The "political krep" seems to be MUCH more crappy than usual, of late.  I'm finding it more and more difficult to manufacture a suitable level of outrage, or at least outrage on a scale that some people and organizations feel I SHOULD.  It's boiled down to this for me: Yes, I know Obama is an asshat.  Yes, I know he shoots himself in the foot, often.  Yes, I know our rights are being trampled upon (visualize an eye-roll here) but I've yet to see a single black helicopter.  About the only thing I can get exercised about at the moment is the pending internet sales tax law and I've written my congress critter (in the House; it's too late for the Senate and my senators are both Donkeys, anyhoo) about that.  It's gotten so bad with me that I've quit reading all exclusively political blogs completely and only skim the political posts my Daily Reads put up.  I'm burnt out.

/Digression.

So there's that and that's about all I've got, aside from a re-run, which is what you'll get, Gentle Reader.  Here t'is:

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Work

No. No, it ISN'T. Not EVEN. We digress before we've even begun.

(I was tagged) with an interesting sort of meme, to wit:

 

It’s simple. Just list all the jobs you’ve had in your life, in order. Don’t bust your brain: no durations or details are necessary, and feel free to omit anything that you feel might tend to incriminate you. I’m just curious. And when you’re done, tag another five bloggers you’re curious about.

 

Famous last words: “Don’t bust your brain.” Heh. This meme is not designed for the semi-elderly or folks that are otherwise memory-challenged... and God Forbid if you should be both. Obviously. But… here goes, as best as I can remember. Unpaid positions are so indicated, in parens.

 

Dish-washer, vacuum cleaner operator, maker of beds, babysitter… all for a pittance of an “allowance.”

Mower of lawns, leaf-raker, snow-shoveler, car washer… same salary as above.

Paper boy.

Apricot picker.

Landscaper’s apprentice… dispenser of grass seed, wheelbarrow operator, dump truck driver.

College student.

Cook @ Mickey Dee’s.

Basic trainee.

Trade school student. (in a manner of speaking)

Kitchen help… potato peeler, dishwasher, floor mopper, aka “KP.”

Latrine cleaner.

Buffer operator, First Class.

Close-order drill specialist. (the result of many punitive hours on the drill pad)

Radar repairman.

Gofer.

Antenna climber.

Grocery bagger (part time).

Bean field weed picker and other assorted dirty agricultural jobs Americans won’t do (part time).

Tire buster (part time and the only job I’ve ever been fired from).

Radar technician.

Surveillance systems technician. (aka electronic spook enabler on the periphery of the Evil Empire)

Motorcycle racer wannabee. (amateur, but I worked damned hard at it) (Photos!)

Radar technician, part deux.

Maintenance control center dispatcher.

Distributor/purveyor of herbal remedies. (part time)

Suicide prevention center counselor. (part time, volunteer; about which: an amusing tale)

Surveillance systems technician, part deux.

Deejay. (volunteer, part time)

Radar technician, yet again. (These positions were many and varied, thus multiple entries)

Engineering/installations team chief (radar).

Bar back.

Brothel inspector, various locations in SE Asia.

Maintenance quality control inspector. (not at ALL related to the entry immediately above. Wait. Check that. Related, but not in the way you might think. You’d be amazed at the wide variety of fuck-ups I encountered.)

Plans and programs manager. (NCOIC).

Classified materials custodian. (Have you ever held your breath for three years straight, Gentle Reader?)

Public affairs NCO, news release writer, photographer.

Editor, “The Visiting Fireman’s Guide to the Best Pubs Around RAF Uxbridge and Vicinity.”

Researcher for the above publication.

Motorcycle safety instructor. (part time, volunteer)

Proxy parent. (volunteer)

Staff weenie.

College student, part deux. (on the VA dole)

Small scale farmer… or maybe large scale gardener. (kinda like Chance)

Telecommunications specialist.

Technical writer.

Proposal writer.

Proposal team leader/manager.

Telecommunications engineer.

Software development/service management/service reporting manager.

Lamaze coach. (At age 52… Aiiieeee!)

Vagabond, two-lane blacktop edition. Coast to coast and border to border.

Staff weenie, operations policies and procedures.

IT Operations Manager; IT Operations Director.

Retiree. (BEST job I’ve EVER had)

Blogger (we use the term quite loosely).

And there ya have it… a checkered career, if there ever was one.

Feel like listing YOUR work experience, Gentle Reader?  I'm all ears...